


Wind Chime Insomnia

by lea_ysaye



Series: Illusions [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Het, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, M/M, Medical Conditions, Past Abuse, Slash, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The group is settled at the prison. Daryl is outside, finding people for their growing community, when he runs into an old acquaintance. Painful memories resurface and long-suppressed feelings are forced into the open.</p><p>This is a slow burn rickyl fic, with some surprises. I think it'll read best now that it's finished. It’s not entirely straightforward, there will be heartache and confusion and a lot of soul searching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daryl

“Daryl?”

He gave a start at the sound of his name, unexpected here among these strangers. Looking up from the walker he had just dispatched Daryl saw that they were done, finally. A tall, dark-haired woman at the other end of the clearing was still grappling with a straggler but as Daryl watched she buried her knife hilt-deep in its head.

Daryl looked down at the woman crouching by his feet. It had been her who had said his name, and with a jolt in his gut he realized who she was. He stared into her dark blue eyes, unable to move for a moment. There was a memory, buried deep at the back of his brain. A sharp pain in his upper left arm. Unthinking the fingers of his right hand closed around the spot. Realizing what he was doing Daryl let the hand drop quickly.

She had seen, he was sure of it, and in her eyes he saw the memory, too. And he saw something else.

Pity? Fear?

Her eyes flicked from side to side, as if she was expecting to see someone else.

“Dr. Fernia?” Daryl’s voice sounded dry as sandpaper to himself.

She focused back on him. “Sara, please…”

There came a groan from the man lying prone by her side. Sara glanced down to where she was pressing a rag against his shoulder. The deep wound was bleeding heavily, and Daryl recognized it as a walker bite. Sara’s arms were drenched in blood up to the elbows, and the sight made Daryl feel oddly queasy.

“He’s not gonna make it.” It came out before he could stop himself.

Sara looked up, and the knowledge was in her eyes. There was sadness, and fury, and Daryl felt the same emotions well up in him.

“Sorry,” he added.

“Thank you.” She turned back to the man, and Daryl squatted by her side. His mind felt strangely dull, reeling with the shock of the unexpected encounter.

“Sara, darling…”

With difficulty Daryl focused on the dying stranger. The man’s hand came up, and Sara took it with a suppressed little sob. Daryl wondered briefly what these two were to each other. The man might have been in his late fifties, his hair graying but his body still strong, powerful and commanding, even lying injured on the ground.

Another reminder that it could hit anyone, at any time.

Daryl saw movement in the corner of his eye and he shifted slightly, surveying the clearing. The other two women were edging slowly closer, each holding on to the shoulders of a teenager of thirteen, maybe fourteen years old. One was a girl, the other a boy.

“Oh Miles,” he heard Sara say now, and turned his attention back to her. “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be sad. We knew it would happen to one of us eventually. I’d rather it be me. Now I’ll be back with Elaine soon…” The stranger glanced at Daryl. “And who are you, if I may ask?”

There was no hostility in the question. The eyes that regarded Daryl were calm and clear, but they were sharp and calculating, too. The stranger was sizing him up. Daryl instinctively felt that this man would have been a great addition to their group.

“Name’s Daryl,” he said. “My camp’s near here.”

That was what Daryl was out here for, to find people and bring them in if they seemed decent. Rick had been the first to voice it. Daryl had a knack for it, his instinct found the good and avoided the bad. And bringing back a doctor would make this a better than average day. Even if… but Daryl didn’t allow his mind to go there just now. Instead he focused back on the man lying before him.

The stranger regarded him with an appraising look. “Will you do me a favor, Daryl?”

Sara placed a hand against the man’s face. “I’ll do it, Miles. You would, for me.”

“I can’t let you do that, darling.” There was sadness in his voice but Miles kept looking at Daryl. “You got a gun?”

Daryl nodded and pulled the .45 pistol from his waistband that Rick insisted he carry as well as the crossbow.

“You sure about this?”

“Yes.” The man’s eyes were boring into Daryl’s. “And I need you to do something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Take care of Sara, for me.”

“Miles…”

He turned his head at last and smiled an almost fatherly smile. “Hush, darling, just this once. Let me die with hope.”

Daryl glanced at the woman. Her lips were a thin line in her pale face, and there were tears brimming in her eyes. She wiped them away almost angrily.

“All right,” she said and bent down to kiss the dying man on the forehead. When she straightened up again she motioned at Daryl. “Do it, then.”

Daryl put one knee on the ground to steady himself. “Might want to step away, doc.”

But she shook her head, just as he had expected. “I’m staying right here.”

Miles smiled again, now looking feverish, and his mouth was beginning to tremble.

“That’s my brave Sara.” His eyes closed and he whispered, “It’s time.”

Daryl cocked the gun and placed the barrel against the man’s temple.

“Thank you,” Miles said. Daryl pulled the trigger.

The shot rang across the clearing, startling the birds from the trees. Daryl saw Sara shudder. Her eyes never left Miles’s face.


	2. Daryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's real hard, I'm sorry it's so slow...

“I want to bury him.”

Daryl straightened up. Sara was still kneeling by the dead man’s side, looking. She wiped her forehead on the rolled-up shirtsleeve covering her upper arm, then stared at her bloody hands and forearms. On an impulse Daryl pulled the rag he always carried from his back pocket, wet it from the bottle on his belt and held it out to her.

“Here.”

Sara glanced up, hesitated a moment, then took the rag and attempted to wipe some of the blood off herself.

“We’ve got a cemetery,” Daryl said, unaware that he was going to speak until he heard his own voice. “At the prison.”

“Prison?”

“That’s where we are. My… group.” He only barely stopped himself from saying _My family_. “You coming with, yeah?”

Getting to her feet Sara looked over at the other two women still hovering nearby and the two teenagers who were regarding Daryl with equal fear and fascination.

“I guess we are.” Sara pointed at the corpse before her. “How do we get him there? He’s heavy…”

Daryl considered. It would be nearly four miles, even if they took the road, and it was mid-day. These people were exhausted. “We’ll come back for him, bring a truck.”

Sara thought about that for a moment, then accepted that it was the only practical solution. She nodded and picked up a backpack that lay by the dead man’s side. She pulled a blanket from it and spread it over the body, covering the face last.

“All right.”

“Let’s go,” Daryl said. He wanted to get these people to safety, they had no more strength to kill walkers. Everyone collected their few belongings, then filed after him down the path towards the road.

They were only about 500 yards away from the road. Daryl led the way until they hit tarmac, then Sara and he walked ahead. The other two women, and the teenagers, kept some distance. Daryl glanced back at them repeatedly, but Sara just stared straight ahead. He watched her for a few minutes, but her expression didn’t change. Shock, Daryl thought. He motioned at the women.

“Your group, they ok?”

Sara turned her head towards his voice, but for a moment her eyes stayed blank. Then she blinked and looked around. “Liz, Sue, you ok? You got water?”

Daryl looked around again, too, and saw the two women nodding. But they still kept back.

“They’re scared,” Sara said. “I think they were hoping Miles and I would take care of them. We only met them yesterday. They got separated from the group they were with. They’d been in the woods for days. I don’t think they would’ve lasted much longer.”

She looked ahead again. “None of us would. And Miles, well…”

Her hand came up and she wiped at her eyes, then grimaced as she noticed how bloody they still were, despite her best efforts with Daryl’s rag. She lowered her arm and sighed.

“Everything’s been a mess for so long, but now, for the first time, I’m actually not sure how things can carry on. Miles and I, we got out together, from the hospital, you know. We haven’t been apart for more than a few hours since it all started.” She fell silent, and Daryl was sure she wouldn’t speak again. But then she did, very quietly. “He wasn’t an easy man to be around, not back when he was my boss, and not since…you know. But he saved my life, more than once…”

“’m sorry for your loss.” And Daryl found he meant it, too.

Sara looked at him. “Oh, he and I… I mean, we weren’t…”

Daryl glanced at her, and thought he saw a haunted expression cross her face. It disappeared quickly, but he didn’t forget what he had seen there, for a second.

She gave a little shudder and wrapped her arms around her, even though it was sweltering in the mid-day sun. Daryl could see goosebumps on her skin, and was suddenly worried for her. He knew the signs. This was shell shock. But was it just losing Miles? He didn’t know, but he almost wished he had it in himself to put his arm around her narrow shoulders at that moment.

Instead, he looked at the road stretching before them and walked on. They didn’t talk for a mile or so, but Daryl kept Sara in the corner of his eye, poised to…what? Catch her if she broke down? Why would she? He also checked on the others frequently, worried about their stillness, too. He’d be glad to get this lot back, no mistake.

When they were about a mile and a half from the prison Sara spoke again, very quietly. “Your brother…Merle?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s gone.”

“Dead?”

“Jus'…gone.”

There was a pause. “Daryl, I…”

But then she broke off and stopped dead as the prison came into view over the crest in the road. Daryl, who had been staring at his feet, steeling himself for whatever Sara felt she had to say about Merle, didn’t notice she had stopped for another few steps. Then he turned around, puzzled. Puzzlement turned to alarm when he saw her face, all bloodless and scared under her short, dark hair.

“Dr. Fer… Sara?”

He retraced his steps, noting the other women and the kids standing behind the doctor, looking frightened.

Sara had her hands balled to fists, shoulders drawn up, trembling. For a moment Daryl got the sense of imminent flight, that urge to be away. Then it faded, and she spoke.

“More people… so many people…”

He looked around. In the lower prison yard several figures were visible digging and working. The gates to the courtyard stood open, and he could see some more of their group, busy preparing lunch at the outdoor seating area. They could hear faint laughter, even this far away and over the moaning of the few walkers that had collected since they had last cleared the fence that morning.

Daryl turned back to Sara, and when her eyes met his it was like an electric shock. The sense of fear and despair was overwhelming. Then it was gone, like it had never been. Her hands unclenched and she blinked.

“I…”

Sara shook her head as if to shake away a bothersome fly. Then she started walking again. Daryl stared at her, more worried than ever. He set off after her.

“You ok?”

“Sure I am. How…how many people have you got?”

“Right ‘bout now maybe thirty?” He thought he knew what had frightened her so. He lowered his voice when he spoke again. “You’ll be safe here, _we’re_ safe. Prison’s near indestructible. Group is strong, nothing will happen to us.”

Sara shook her head and he saw tears in her eyes. “You’re wrong, Daryl. Something always happens.”


	3. Rick

Rick watched them approach. He straightened up and leaned on his shovel. Carl was rolling the gate aside to let Daryl and the newcomers in. He was flanked by Michonne and Carol, both poised to pick off any walkers that got too close. They had cleared the area around the prison thoroughly just a few hours ago, and Daryl’s small scraggly group hadn’t even had to hurry as they approached.

Not that they looked like they could have hurried anyway. Daryl was leading the way, a woman with short, auburn hair a couple of steps behind him. Carol went over to the woman, and Rick noticed how the stranger shied away from her, then shook her head and hugged her arms around herself tightly. She turned and said something to Daryl that Rick couldn’t hear.

The hunter seemed to hesitate, but then gave a quick jerk of the head and the two of them continued walking, now aiming for where Rick was standing in his vegetable patch.

As they approached Rick noticed Daryl angling his body towards the stranger, almost as if poised for her to stumble, or run, or do something else unexpected. Rick frowned. He glanced back towards the gate. Carl had rolled it closed again, and Carol and Michonne were leading the rest of the group - two more women and two youngsters - up to the prison yard.

Rick walked to the edge of the earthy patch of ground and leaned the shovel against the low fence they had erected a couple of days ago. He wiped his hands on the seat of his pants just when Daryl drew level with him.

He looked at the woman coming up beside the hunter. She was no more than 5’3, slender in a way that made Rick remember their own hard winter spent outside with little food. Her clothes, and the small bag she was carrying across her body, were ragged and dirty. It didn’t look like she had had a place to hole up in securely in a long while.

Her eyes met Rick’s, and through the numbness and exhaustion he could see something else. It was almost recognition, but not quite. Rick could see that she felt it, too, that electric current, that moment of disorientation. Her dark blue gaze lingered on him for a moment, then she looked away, up at Daryl.

Rick focused on the hunter, too. He gave the other man a quick, cursory assessment, automatically checking he was unharmed.

“You ok?” As much of a greeting these days as hello.

Daryl nodded, jerking his head at the people now being led up to the prison by Michonne and Carol. “Some folks ran into trouble. Brought them back, see if they’re a fit.”

The hunter wasn’t looking at the woman by his side, and aware that Rick had noticed. He scuffed his feet, moved a step closer to the stranger, seemingly almost in spite of himself, his body language oddly protective. The silence began to stretch

“Dr. Fernia,” Daryl said eventually.

“Sara,” the woman added, and lifted her right hand. Then she looked with disgust at the blood and walker guts still covering her fingers, balled them into a fist and lowered them again.

Rick felt strangely relieved that he had a reason to look at her again. “Rick Grimes. You’re a medical doctor?”

“Yeah. Emergency medicine.”

He gave her a wide smile. What a stroke of luck. “You’re welcome regardless, but if you decide to stay you would definitely be an asset to our group.”

Daryl shifted and Rick glanced at him. Did he catch a pained expression on the hunter’s face? Sara turned away slightly, and Rick definitely saw pain on her face for a moment. Daryl moved closer to her again, and if Rick hadn’t known their hunter better he would have been sure that Daryl was about to reach for her.

Rick frowned. What was going on here that he was missing? Given time he'd probably find out. Until then…

“Let’s introduce you to the council.”

But Sara shook her head, and her face showed determination. “I…lost...lost somebody...a friend...out there. Daryl said we could bury him here. I want to get him, before something else does.”

Rick saw Carol coming down towards them from the inner gate. He looked at Daryl. “You up for another run?”

“Sure.” Daryl didn’t need to ask what Rick was suggesting.

Rick nodded at Carol as she approached them. “Sara, Daryl and I will get your friend. You go with Carol and clean up. Get some food, rest.”

Sara looked uncertain. Rick was about to speak, but Daryl preempted him. That surely was a first.

“You good to take Sara to the others, Carol?”

“Sure.” She nodded at Daryl, and Rick registered the same surprise on her face that he felt.

Carol motioned at Sara. “C’mon. You look ready to fall down.”

Rick saw the stranger’s shoulders slump, suddenly realizing what mighty effort it had been for her to keep it together. Now it hit her, like a blow to the head, that she was safe, for the moment. Like a sleepwalker Sara went to Carol, who put an arm around her protectively. “Let’s go, darling. You’re ok now.”

They watched Carol lead the newcomer away. She had seemed tough to Rick, but in this world even the strongest reached their breaking point eventually. Rest and food would restore her, Rick was pretty certain, and he and Daryl could do their bit as well. Bring her dead companion here so she could put the past to rest.

Daryl was watching the two women walk up to the prison, too. His face was unreadable, and Rick could feel the tension in the other man. Finding this particular survivor had done something to the hunter, that much was clear.

What was going on here? Rick was keen to find out.


	4. Rick

The pick-up truck was noisy and unreliable, but for this purpose the flat bed was useful. Daryl followed Rick down to the front gates where the truck and three other cars were parked, and got into the passenger seat without comment. He held the crossbow on his knees and looked out of the window as Rick jiggled the old engine into gear.

They didn’t speak as they drove out of the gate, which Michonne opened for them. Rick was used to Daryl’s silences. The hunter was less reclusive than he had been, but he still held his own counsel a lot of the time, and they had all gotten used to it. But today there was a tension in him that Rick didn’t care for. When the silence had stretched for minutes he decided to speak. Maybe Daryl would confide in him, if he knew Rick was willing to listen.

“You know that doctor?” Rick said, keeping his eyes on the road. He was sure Daryl was looking at him, in that narrowed, mistrustful way he still got when something happened he couldn’t quite make heads nor tails of. Maybe he should’ve left it. Making Daryl uncomfortable, trapped here in the truck with him, hadn’t been Rick’s intention.

“Why you think?”

Rick gave a small shrug, hoping to convey that his question was of no great importance. “Cop instinct’s not dead, I suppose.”

He left it at that. The hunter never ignored a direct question, but Rick had learned to give him time to get around to the answers in his own time.

“She worked at the local clinic.” Daryl didn’t offer more than that. Rick could tell by Daryl’s tone that it would serve neither of them if he pried any further now. And why cause Daryl agony? They had time.

They rode on in silence. After twenty minutes Daryl pointed to a narrow path leading into the woods. “There.”

Rick stopped the car and they got out, Daryl with palpable relief. Weapons on alert, they slowly walked into the markedly cooler shade between the trees.

They soon came to a clearing strewn with dead walkers. Daryl made straight for one of the bodies, lying under a blanket a little way apart.

“Why was Sara covered in so much blood?” Rick, suddenly curious, scanned the body before them. There was a little blood on the blanket where it covered the head, but not anywhere near enough to explain her arms having been red up over the elbows.

Daryl shrugged. “Didn’t ask her.” He bent down. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Carrying the body back to the road was hard work. The high sun shone through the leaves, and the humid air soon felt like hot water in Rick’s lungs. The man he and Daryl were carrying between them was tall and heavy. Rick watched the muscles in Daryl’s jaw work as the hunter struggled to hold up the dead man’s legs. Neither of them spoke, or made eye contact.

When they had loaded the corpse onto the bed of the truck Daryl reached into his back pocket where he usually kept his scarlet rag. Rick had seen Sara holding it in her bloodied hands, and he watched Daryl remember where it had gone. The hunter frowned, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and threw Rick a fleeting look. Then he turned and went around to the passenger side, and a moment later returned with a bottle of water. Rick wiped his hands on his pants legs and took the bottle when Daryl held it out to him. Rick drank deeply. Even though the water was tepid it tasted great in the sweltering heat.

“Y’want her t’stay.”

It wasn’t a question. Rick could tell Daryl knew Rick would know right away what he was talking about. Rick lowered the bottle, surprised that Daryl had brought it up. But he nodded. “A trauma doctor, what could be more useful? Of course I want her to stay.”

Daryl looked down at his scuffed boots. Rick couldn’t see his expression, but after a moment the hunter nodded to himself. “She’s real good.” It came out really quietly, and a little bit gruff, but there was gentleness in Daryl’s voice, too.

Then he turned away and climbed into the passenger seat. Rick went around to the other side of the pick-up, got in and started the engine.

They hardly exchanged a word as they returned to the prison, or while they dug the grave. The sun was setting as they put the last shovels of soil on top of the fresh mound in the makeshift graveyard.

When Daryl stopped and straightened up Rick looked around too. A small figure had just emerged from the inner gates. He and Daryl watched as Sara came towards them.

She stopped by the grave and looked down for a long moment, head bowed and arms wrapped around herself. Rick noticed that she had showered; her short hair was still damp and she wore a new, slightly too large shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Rick and Daryl stood in silence.

“I should’ve helped,” Sara eventually said.

“’s no problem,” Daryl said. His voice was low and gentle, and Rick watched the hunter watch Sara, his face not giving away anything. Then Daryl gave Rick a quick, uneasy glance, as if he had just remembered he wasn’t alone with the doctor. Rick, hating to see Daryl uncomfortable, nodded at Sara.

“You want to say something, for Miles? A prayer, maybe?”

But she shook her head. “He had no faith, and neither do I.”

“All right then,” Rick said gently. “Let’s go back and rest, get some food.”

Daryl turned to him. “I’ll walk the fence,” he said.

Rick frowned. “All right, but don’t stay long. You had a hard day, too.”

Daryl nodded and made to go, but then Sara took a step towards him. Daryl froze, looking as if he was trying not to flinch away. She stopped. Had she been about to touch Daryl’s arm? Rick wasn’t sure.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

He shrugged, chewing his bottom lip. “Sure thing,” he mumbled, then walked off without another word or backward glance.

“Let’s go,” Rick said to Sara as she stood there, looking after Daryl. She nodded and fell into step beside him. Rick leaned the shovel against the pig enclosure when they passed it, and they walked slowly towards the inner courtyard.

Sara didn’t speak for several minutes. She seemed deep in thought. Then suddenly she straightened up and looked at Rick, as if she had just come to a conclusion.

“What happened to Merle?”

Rick hesitated. Clearly, Sara had known both Dixon brothers before all this had happened. Would he find out more about Daryl’s strange behavior now?

“Merle, he…disappeared.” And Rick told her how they had come back to the empty Atlanta roof, and all that had led up to it. “It was hard on Daryl. He doesn’t like talking about his brother, but I think he really misses him…”

That was Sara’s opening, and Rick knew that she knew what he wanted. But she remained silent, until they had almost reached Rick’s people who were clustered around the outside barbeque area. Then Sara stopped and looked up at him. Her dark blue eyes were serious, and there was a sadness in her gaze, a pain that told Rick as much about her as her next words told him about Daryl.

“Merle is a bad man. Better hope he never finds his way back into Daryl’s life.”

And before Rick could say or do anything she had turned away and joined Carol who was handing out plates of food.


	5. Sara

Sara woke with a barely suppressed scream on her lips. Hand over her mouth she stayed very still for a few minutes, breaths coming noisily, heart beating fast.

The nightmare was soon slipping away, but she knew what it had been. No need to remember, it was there, always.

What was the point thinking about it, though? It was all over now.

Truly.

Finally.

She sat up on the unfamiliar bed, head not quite touching the top bunk above her. She was alone in the cell. Carol had led her to the last unoccupied cell in the block Daryl’s group shared, the cell furthest away from the bustle. It was dark back here, and quiet, even in daytime. Sara hadn’t cared, all she had wanted was to sleep. After dinner she had been so exhausted she knew she would break down before them all soon if she didn’t get away for a bit.

Rick had looked at her across the two tables that separated them, and he had looked concerned. Sara had had the strong urge to talk to him. He and Daryl had been so kind, and she felt connected to them already. But she had resisted. She was exhausted, her defenses were down. She wasn’t ready to tell these people everything yet, but it would be impossible not to, at that moment.

So when Carol had suggested she should sleep Sara had followed the other woman willingly. She had been out the moment her head touched the wonderfully clean pillow.

But as exhausted as her body was, Sara’s brain wouldn’t let her sleep through the night. And there was no chance she would go back to sleep. Awake, Sara could cope with the memories brought back by the nightmare. She could refuse to let them bubble to the surface. Only when she closed her eyes did they have any power.

She had to get out of this stuffy, tiny cell, now. Sara hurriedly pulled on the worn, dirty trainers she had worn since the day she and Miles has escaped from the hospital, then sprinted along the walkway past the quiet cells, their entrances hung with sheets and blankets, and down the stairs.

Only once Sara got into the wider space of the communal area did she slow down. Moonlight was filtering in through windows set high in the thick, concrete walls. The outlines of the tables and benches bolted to the floor, of shelves with cooking utensils and packages of food registered vaguely as she made for the door.

The iron door leading to the prison courtyard was heavy and creaked, but nothing stirred in the cell block when she stopped halfway to listen. Sara slipped through the crack quickly, the cold metal brushing against her.

The same, shimmery moonlight lit up the courtyard, making a monochrome still life of the group’s daytime central gathering place. Nothing was stirring nearby, no breeze giving the illusion of activity. Faintly, Sara could hear the moaning of the undead creatures far below, behind the outer fence.

But she wasn’t alone out here. Instinct told her the moment she stepped outside that Daryl was nearby. Then she saw him, standing motionless by the inner fence. And of course, he knew she was there, too.

His back was to her. His shoulders were tense, his stance stiff. His fingers were interlinked with the fence, and had she been closer Sara was sure she could’ve seen how white his knuckles had become. She could feel his discomfort clearly.

It had hurt a little, when she had seen the fear on Daryl’s face, back in the clearing. Had one of his first thoughts been that she would tell on him, divulge what she knew about his past, about Merle?

He had trusted her once. She hoped he would again. Now she stepped close to the fence, leaving some distance between them. Out of the corner of her eye Sara saw Daryl shift a little. She followed his gaze to the undead down near the forest, and together they watched them scrabbling around for a while. The thought of dead bodies walking still gave Sara a creepy feeling, after all these months, and she shuddered.

They didn’t speak, but slowly, Sara felt herself calming down in Daryl’s presence. Somehow, having him so close, motionless and entirely silent, was soothing. The nerviness that had overcome her in the cell dissipated bit by bit.

It was strange, really. Thinking back to when they had met at the hospital, the thing that had struck Sara was how calm he had made her feel. There was a stillness in Daryl, an evenness that she had never encountered in anyone before or since. He’d been scared, then, and in a lot of pain. But this core of silence, of just being, had shone through the tension and fear. Just as it did now.

“Nightmares?”

The sudden sound of his voice startled her. She glanced around, astonished that Daryl would break the silence. He gave a small shrug. “We all get’em.”

They continued to watch the distant fence. Now, strangely, the noises of the corpses bashing themselves to shreds against the chain link made Sara feel safe. It meant the things were outside, while she was in here, where they couldn’t get at her. She had almost forgotten what it felt like, not holding her breath with fear every single second of the day.

“You’re so lucky you found this place.”

Daryl grunted in agreement but didn’t speak. Sara turned her head and looked directly at him. “Bet you want out often, huh?”

He returned her gaze, and for the first time allowed himself to show her some of the pain she could feel simmering below the surface. Sara turned her body around but didn’t step closer. _I’m telling the truth, but I won’t hurt you,_ was the message she hoped to be sending.

“I won’t ever tell them what happened to you, Daryl. It doesn’t matter that the world in which I was your doctor no longer exists. I swore an oath not to cause harm. For me, that still stands.”

She held her breath, her heartbeat loud in her own ears. For a moment she thought he might walk away, but instead, surprisingly, he spoke again, his voice barely audible now.

“I never went to... that place y’found me… I couldn’t…”

Sara turned back to face the fence. “No,” she said, gripping the chain links hard, “I didn’t expect you could.”

There was another pause of several minutes, in which only the dead could be heard.

“Stay,” Daryl then continued, in that low, faint voice. “We need a doc, and Rick…”

What about Rick, Sara wondered. But Daryl didn’t elaborate. She considered asking, but before she could decide whether that was wise Daryl spoke again. “That man, Miles…”

Almost involuntarily he took a step closer. Sara flinched, and he froze. Her heart was beating wildly as she shook her head.

“Don’t, Daryl. It’s all over… but I’m staying. I’m definitely staying.”

Right now, she decided, that was easier than doing anything else.


	6. Rick and Sara

“Settling in?”

Sneaking up on Sara hadn’t been Rick’s intention, and when she flinched badly and nearly overbalanced where she crouched by the open crate of medical supplies he took a quick step towards her to catch her before she could fall.

But Sara shook her head and steadied herself against the wall with one hand.

“You startled me.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but she was breathing hard as she straightened up. “I’m not used to this, such a big place that’s safe, and full of people, who…”

She fell silent. Rick kept his distance, and didn’t ask her to elaborate on the _Who_. “I can see how this is more than strange for you right now. Take your time, getting used to it. Hershel’s fine for now, looking after our cuts and scrapes, but he says to find him if you got any questions.”

Sara nodded. “I will. It’ll be useful, having something to distract me from the claustrophobia.”

 _She wants to be alone,_ Rick thought, _but that’s a bad idea._ _Daryl’s right, none of us can go it alone now. The sooner she gets used to us, the better._

And he had another, more private, motivation, too. “Hey, I could use a coffee. It’s instant, but I take it up to the watchtower and pretend it’s finest Columbian beans. Come and join me? You can get used to us one by one, and I volunteer to go first.”

Sara smiled a little about this poor attempt at humor , then nodded. “Sounds manageable.”

*

How did a cup of coffee lead to this?

Sara studied Rick’s face on the pillow next to her, fast asleep. He looked so peaceful, the worry lines on his face smoothed out. She smiled despite her confusion about what had happened.

This here was a good man. Sara had known it as soon as she had seen him interact with Daryl. She had felt the trust Daryl had in Rick, had seen the way Rick looked at Daryl. These two were safe, they were _good_ , for each other, and for her.

When Rick had been waiting for her in the doorway to his cell as Sara made her way from dinner towards her own bed she had gone to him without even thinking about it. There had been no prelude. Nothing they had said over coffee earlier in the day had led her to believe that they would move so quickly, so far. Oh yes, there had been sparks, certainly. But after Miles…

No, she couldn’t go there. And it was unrelated anyway, right?

Or was it?

This wasn’t some sick payment in return for Rick’s protection. It had been pure instinct. Animal passion, and affection. Hunger for closeness, for sure. A new leaf turned over in a brand new book. Healing.

Sara needed time to digest it all. She carefully extracted herself from under the blankets. She would go back to her own cell now and sleep on this. See what her brain told her come morning.

She gathered her brand new clothes together and hurriedly put on the shirt. Summer nights inside a prison were surprisingly cold and damp, and Sara could feel the goosebumps on her breasts as she quickly did up the shirt buttons.

Trainers in one hand she threw a last, long look over at the bed, trying hard to dampen down the tiny bubble of hopeful happiness that threatened to rise inside her chest. Then she turned towards the cell entrance and pushed away the blanket that covered it.

“Hey, Ri…oh…”

Sara froze, face to face with Daryl, who had just descended the stairs and now stared at her, also rooted to the spot.

“I…,” he began again, then stalled. Sara thought she saw confusion and hurt on his face, just before he turned away and dropped his eyes.

“Daryl,” she said automatically, but equally didn’t know what should come next.

“Goin’ out t’set some snares. They know...”

Daryl walked past her, eyes remaining averted. Sara could think of nothing to do or say as Daryl sped up in his urge to get away. She stood motionless, listening for the steel door banging shut.

*

“We gotta talk about Daryl.”

Rick was squinting across the field towards the gate. Up here in the tower the midday light was crystalline, and you could see for miles, across the writhing bodies by the fence, the trees, almost all the way to the ruin that once had been Atlanta.

“We do?”

“Have you seen him today?”

“Isn’t he out hunting?”

“He came back an hour ago. Now he’s hiding.”

“Hiding? Where?”

“In the store rooms. When I went in there to finish off with the supplies I could…feel him, I suppose. Where the weapons are. He was real quiet, but I knew…”

“Why would he be back there? He’s never done this before. Usually when he wants to be alone he stays out in the woods for a few days.”

“I think it’s my fault. He saw me come out of your cell this morning. Rick, listen…”

He glanced around at her when she stopped talking. Sara had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he didn’t help her make it easier. She gave a sigh.

“The world is different now. It’s brutal, and hard, every single moment of every day. But love… I don’t know. Maybe that’s the one thing that’s easier now. It’s like, love’s necessary, in all its forms, to make it through the days at all…”

Rick looked away again. “How did you guess? You’ve been here all of five minutes...”

It wasn’t an accusation, but there was some nervousness hidden behind his outward calm.

“I feel it when he…when he’s hurting. He was hurting, this morning. And I’ve seen how he looks at you.” Sara took a deep breath. “And how you look at him.”

“Never seems to be time to talk,” Rick said quietly, almost, but not quite, to himself.

“The right time is now. As things are, you’re lucky you didn’t miss your chance.”

“What about us?”

“Love’s much easier now, Rick. And this is necessary.”


	7. Rick and Daryl

He decided not to scare Daryl out of his hiding place in the storage rooms. It was the middle of the day, there were people milling about everywhere, and Daryl would be tense and unreceptive. Hell, Rick was nervous himself that someone could walk in on them during what he hoped would be a very private conversation.

Daryl was signed up for the first night shift every night that week, and it so happened that Rick had agreed to do the second one this very night. That was his best chance. Nobody would even consider coming up to the guard tower. They would have all night.

So Rick tried his best to keep busy for the rest of the day. Sara was hidden away somewhere with Hershel, who had finally cornered her, appealing to her healer instincts and convincing her to help him take stock of the infirmary. Rick would have liked to spend more time with her. He hardly knew her yet, and yearned to change that. But there would be time. Rick was a patient man.

When Daryl finally emerged from hiding Rick happened to be in the common area. It was past dinner time, and most of their group had dispersed for the evening. Daryl didn’t look at anyone, merely hurried past Rick and Carol putting away the last dishes. He was out the door into the prison yard as quickly as he could without actually running.

Rick selected a clean plate and cutlery, then, when Carol had bidden him goodnight, went over to the pot with leftovers from dinner. Hearing Carol’s footsteps die away above him Rick placed the pot back onto the small camping stove and lit the flame.

*

“You missed dinner.”

He hadn’t tried to be quiet on the stairs. Daryl would know he was coming, whatever he did. The hunter was just good like that.

Rick put the plate with stew and cornbread on the table on which Daryl perched. The hunter always dragged it close to the window when he was on watch duty. You could see further and clearer than from one of the folding chairs, even if it wasn’t as comfortable. Rick stepped back and waited. For a few minutes Daryl didn’t move, and Rick was almost ready to resign himself to the fact that this had been a mistake. The hunter wasn’t ready. He was about to leave when Daryl moved. A tiny cock of the head, a quick glance over his shoulder, and the hunter reached for the plate.

“Thanks.”

Daryl didn’t quite bolt down his meal, but Rick could tell how hungry he was by the speed with which the food disappeared. A day spent outside, tense and miserable, had clearly had an effect. Rick knew the other man well enough by now to recognize his unhappiness. It cut Rick deeply, that he had been the cause of it, even if inadvertently, and he was more determined than ever to make this finally right.

When he had finished the last morsels of food Daryl put the plate down. Then he jumped lithely off the table and, without glancing at Rick, went over to the corner furthest from the window. There he bent down and took the lid off the covered bucket with water, one of many their group had placed in strategic places all around the prison. Daryl dipped a cup into the bucket, then straightened up and drank deeply.

For a while the two men just stood there, not quite looking at each other, and not quite hiding that each kept an eye on the other all the same. It was Daryl who broke the silence eventually, taking them both by surprise.

“Know why y’came. ‘s ok, Rick, I…”

“You’re wrong, man,” Rick interrupted quietly, putting all his feelings into the few words, into the glance he gave Daryl as he now crossed the small room. “ _I was wrong_ , for so long. Should’ve done this a long time ago…”

And he stopped, right in front of the hunter, so close their bodies were nearly touching. To Rick’s astonishment Daryl didn’t try to back away. There was surprise in his eyes, yes, but also hope, guarded and half-hidden, held carefully at bay. Rick saw him swallow, grappling with a question that could shattered it all.

“What about Sara?”

Rick smiled, kept Daryl’s eyes firmly in his, a first caress, a promise. “She gave me the courage. She was what was missing.”

He let Daryl mull this over for a moment, watched the tiny nod as Daryl lowered his eyes again. “Yeah,” the hunter whispered, entirely to himself. “Yeah, she was.”

And then Daryl leaned in and kissed Rick. Surprise hardly registered under that feeling of rightness, of completion. Rick let everything happen for a few seconds, then brought one hand up, threading his fingers into Daryl’s unruly, grown-out strands, tugging gently on a few, then settling on the hunter’s neck. His other hand went around Daryl’s back, pulling the other man close.

With a moan Daryl pressed his pelvis against Rick’s hip, his erection hot and solid, and Rick felt himself grow hard. He lost himself in the moment, the feeling of the lean, supple body against him, the taste of Daryl’s mouth on his.

Then Rick let go of Daryl’s neck and pushed his hand between them, rubbed Daryl through the fabric until the hunter trembled and bucked under his hand. But when Rick started on belt buckles and buttons Daryl drew back.

His eyes were hooded, full of fire, but there was also fear. Uncertainty as well, and something Rick didn’t understand.

“Not yet, man. I…I want to, but… ‘m sorry…”

Rick smiled soothingly. “Hey, no rush. We got time, now. Just had to get this cleared up, tonight. Where we stand.”

Daryl’s answering smile was hardly noticeable, but no less heartfelt for it. “Standing right here, man. Together.”

“Yeah,” Rick agreed. “At last.”

*

Happiness. That was the overriding feeling. Not pure happiness, no. Never that, as far back as he cared to remember. But peaceful, just as peaceful as the sight before him, the velvety night sky dotted in stars.

Daryl looked over at Rick, asleep on the cot against the nearest wall. And he imagined the perfect happiness he hardly dared to yearn for, even now. To lie on that cot with Rick, sweaty, spent, safe in the other man’s arms after enjoying the passion they were both yearning to give to each other.

But he wasn’t ready. Soon, though. Daryl could feel it approaching, that moment, now that the first shock and excitement of Rick’s sudden move began to weave itself into their shared memory.

“Mind if I stay?” Rick had asked. “It’s my shift next, so…”

“I’d mind if you didn’t,” Daryl had replied, and smiled.

Smiling. It was so rare for him, even here, now, with the people who were starting to feel like family. Happiness. How nice it felt, how right. He’d almost forgotten.

His mind turned to the sudden change, the catalyst, that had come into their lives so unexpectedly.

Sara had changed everything for him. She had wanted to, once before, had wanted to make Daryl’s life better. He’d been too afraid then.

Now he was no longer afraid. She had finished what she had started then. And Daryl could look to the future with anticipation again.


	8. Daryl

_He gives in and goes to the hospital only when the pain in his chest is so bad he’s whimpering with every inhalation, and the fever burns so furiously he loses whole hours at a stretch. He might’ve been two or three days hiding out in the forest when he wakes in a vaguely familiar clearing between the trees, with no idea how he got there. He knows he needs help. He can’t breathe._

_His instincts aren’t totally shot from the fever. He knows he’s about four miles from town, and the little hospital there. It takes him all afternoon to walk the distance._

_Parched, burnt out by fever and the unrelenting Georgia heat of August, he stumbles along, not daring to leave the path to find water. He hasn’t got enough strength left for detours._

_There’s nobody in attendance at reception when he finally stumbles through the clinic’s doors, clutching his chest, head spinning. The waiting area is deserted save for two old biddies whose wrinkled old faces, drawn to grimaces of disgust and fear, tell him just what a sorry sight he must be._

_“Sir, do you need help?”_

_He turns and sees a young woman with short, auburn hair come towards him from the back of the clinic. She’s wearing scrubs, and his legs take that as a cue to stop functioning._ I got you here, _his body seems to say,_ now someone else can take over.

_Hitting the floor is agony, but he can’t even care. His eyes don’t work too well all of a sudden, or his ears, either, and that’s what’s really freaking him out._

_There are hands on him, so many, their grip like iron on his fevered, aching skin. He struggles, instinctual fear overriding the rational voice that wants to soothe, that knows these people only mean to help._

_“Son, hold still, will ya? Christ!”_

_And then another, much smaller hand joins the melee, cool and steady against his face, and gentle, so gentle._

_“Sir, please, we’re only trying to help. You’re ok, I promise.”_

_No more struggle, he lies very still, blurred oval of her face above him, her words like salve on his fevered mind. He trusts her, his instincts tell him it’s ok to let her take charge._

_Trust. When was that last even a concept his brain could understand? Here, right now, it’s almost easy to trust, as long as she’s there. And that’s good, because he has no choice. Really, no choice._

_He’s drowning, he can’t draw a single breath._

_A sharp jab in his arm. He flinches, violently, and the cool, small hand is back._

_“Shh…” And he’s quiet._

_Time is a series of nows, after that._

_Lights, above his head. They slice into his head and he closes his eyes with a groan. But the pain in his chest is almost gone. He can’t breathe, but it doesn’t seem to matter any longer. There’s a strange pressure, a heaviness on the left, and a stiffness that paralyzes._

_But he drifts away before he can think about it too much._

_A soft voice murmurs, “My god.” There’s more pressure, cool hands, and then, yes, it does hurt. Something slides between his ribs, and he cries out, once. Dimly, it registers, that he can suddenly breathe._

_Then everything is gone again._

_Next time he surfaces he’s so thirsty he’s sure he’s dying. His mouth is stuffed full of sand, he chokes on the sensation._

_“Thirsty,” he croaks, not even sure it’s a word._

_A plastic cup to his lips. “Slowly, all right?” That gentle voice again. He can’t go slow, he’s dying. He needs to drink._

_“Hey!” The voice is indignant as he suddenly rouses his remaining strength and snatches the cup with his right and downs it in one._

_He knows it’s no good even as he gulps down the cool liquid. A moment of agonizing, gut-wrenching cramps, and he curls up with a groan as all the precious water comes back up in one great rush._

_Gentle hands on his shoulders, holding him steady so he doesn’t topple off the bed as he heaves again._

_Then the hands push him back, and stay on him, rubbing his sternum soothingly as he sobs through the pain and nausea. The bile burning in his throat, the shrieking from his muscles everywhere. And still, he’s so thirsty. He wants to see the source of that consistent kindness, but the world is just a blur. His eyes are full of grit, and they sting, and he gives up, closes them as tears sneak out between his lashes._

_“Thirsty,” he whispers again, but something pulls at him until all thought stops._

_When he wakes again it’s dark outside. He can see a little better now, in the soft glow of a lamp behind his head. At first he thinks he’s alone, in a room full of tidy, empty cots._

_Then there are footsteps, and a moment later he sees a vaguely familiar face bend over him. The soft, cool hand is back on his face, brushing his forehead lightly, stroking the side of his neck._

_“How’re you feeling?”_

_He has to think about this for a moment, then shrugs. And right away wishes he hadn’t. A tearing sensation crawls through his left side, and he knows if he wasn’t so doped up he would be screaming. He glances down with apprehension and sees his left arm bound up tightly to his chest. There’s something unyielding around the shoulder and biceps, where the pain is worst._

_“Hurts,” he croaks, throat thick with drowsiness._

_“You got banged up pretty bad. There’s a hairline fracture in your humerus, and the scapula got damaged, too. Several broken ribs on that side, and your lung collapsed.” She stops for a moment, as if deciding what to say next, then asks, “What’s your name?”_

_“Daryl,” he croaks._

_“Hi, Daryl,” she says quietly and smiles. “I’m Dr. Fernia. But call me Sara.”_

_“Why’s there no one here? ‘s a hospital, right?”_

_A moment’s hesitation. “We’re a day clinic, actually. Anyone who needs to be admitted gets sent to County. Only…”_

_He suddenly understands. “Banged-up drifter, bound t’have no insurance.”_

_She nods, looking miserable and embarrassed. “If you hadn’t walked yourself in we wouldn’t ever have had a case like yours here. We’re not equipped for severe trauma. They would’ve accepted you at County if you’d pitched up there, but…”_

_“They wouldn’t take me as transfer. I get it, don’ worry.” So used to not being wanted it hardly registers. But something else has, and it gives him the strangest sensation. “Why you stay wi’ me?”_

_She shrugs, as if it’s self-evident. “We couldn’t let you leave, you were completely out of it with the fever. I had to make sure you’re ok.” She looks at him curiously, and seems to struggle with something before making up her mind. “You got no ID on you. Should I call someone for you?”_

_He shakes his head and pulls back from her instinctively at the same time. And knows right away that that was a terrible mistake. The world spins sickeningly and his insides turn over. He closes his eyes with a groan, trying desperately to turn onto his side, not be sick all over the bed._

_“Here.” A basin under his chin, just in time. Her hands holding him again, arms propping him up as he retches miserably. There’s pain, in his ribs, his arm, his left side._

_She helps him lower himself carefully when the nausea abates. A cool wet cloth on his burning forehead, soothing as he waits for the pain to lessen._

_“Better?” she asks gently after a minute._

_“Yeah…”_

_“You’ll have to take it real slow, Daryl. You got badly concussed, any quick movement will make you feel wretched for a good few days to come.”_

_While he waits for his madly racing heart to slow down his eyes are drawn to a window where a dream catcher sways in the soft, warm breeze, faint sweet chime audible now and then._

_“Ma had one of these,” he murmurs drowsily, remembering how he would lie in his small bed and listen to its clinking, while pa beat his ma bloody in the living room. Now, hurting and scared, the memory brings tears to his eyes._

_The young doctor sees, of course she does. Her hands are still on his face, on his neck, feather light, soothing, holding on. “What happened to you, Daryl? Who hurt you?” Her voice is low, her focus on him entirely._

_And to his own surprise he tells her, some of it at least. About Merle, and how his brother, off his head on moonshine and meth, had kicked him out of the speeding car into the ditch. How he had fallen, too fast, down into the ravine by the side of the steep mountain road. Paralyzed with disbelief he had been unable to prevent Merle’s rage permitting this unthinkable act, and, hitting his head, he had passed out long before his body had come to a stop at the bottom of the gorge, broken and battered like a rag doll._

_He doesn’t tell her of Merle’s paranoia, the stinking, mounting, drug-induced fear that rules their home these days. Of the despair, the rotten stench of corrupted dreams. Of the deterioration of a life that never held much promise, and is now utterly, irrevocably laid to waste._

_But she understands it anyway, the signs of neglect, the dank undercurrent of an existence never more than marginal. In her dark blue eyes he sees his own memories; of a skinny boy, cowering, while a giant of a man, steeped in cheap booze and hopelessness, lays into him with his belt until the skin on his back hangs in bloody shreds._

_They don’t speak again, but she stays, eyes on him filled with tears. She wipes his sweaty face, holds his hand as he rides out wave after wave of nausea. Tops up the morphine as he whimpers and writhes, and holds him while the medication slowly takes the edge off the incessant pain in his chest. Keeps a cool hand on his forehead as the narcotics and the fever finally pull him under, into confused and terrifying dreams._

_He wakes again to daylight and activity all around him. Dr. Fernia is gone._

_There’s a small plastic bag on the bedside table, in it painkillers, twenty dollars and a leaflet from a shelter for victims of domestic abuse._

_It takes him many minutes to get it together enough to climb out of bed and pull on his dusty, sweat-stained clothes again. He steps into his boots and pulls the IV lines from his arm, and the oxygen tubes off. Nurses and doctors come and go, he can see them through a gap in the curtains that have been drawn around his bed. None of them look at him. Nobody tries to stop him._

_As he finally walks out of the clinic into the blinding, stifling afternoon Daryl clutches the little bag tightly to his chest with his good arm._

_He is grateful for the painkillers. He finds a cab and pays the driver with the twenty dollars. He wants to tell him to take him to the Atlanta address on the leaflet. Twice he starts to read it out, twice he stops. In the end he chokes out Merle’s address instead and leans back in the sunbaked leather seat, tears running down his face._


	9. Sara and Daryl

“Where’re y’goin’?”

Sara had been as good as listening out for his footsteps as she got her kit ready in the courtyard at first dawn. She turned now and looked straight at Daryl, deliberately holding eye contact, half hoping he would waver under her stare, maybe even leave her be.

No such luck.

“Hershel mentioned a pharmacy two towns over that might still have some antibiotics left. We’re running low on amoxicillin. Thought I’d check it out.”

“All on yer own?”

She made her shrug non-committal. “It’s faster like this.” _No big deal, right?_

He wasn’t having it. Of course not. “Even faster t’take a car.”

_Oh Daryl,_ Sara wanted to scream _, I just need to get away for a bit. There are too many people here. I’m not ready for crowds, not yet._

She didn’t have to. He got it. “Was gonna go out, check m’snares. Come with me, there’s a short-cut. You got provisions? Water?”

“Of course.”

“Weapon?”

Sara showed him the knife she and Miles had shared for so many months. It was an old hunting knife, and in the world _before_ Miles had kept in his office. It had served them well. Daryl gave an approving jerk of the head.

“C’mon then.” He strode down to the inner gate.

Sara picked up her satchel and followed. “Why’re you so sure I didn’t mean to leave for good?”

“Same reason I ain’t, neither.” He threw her a look over one shoulder, and Sara could have sworn she saw a small smile. “Told Rick we’d be back by dinnertime.”

*

Remarkable, how he could just be quiet with her. Nobody apart from Rick could abide his silence for long, and certainly none of the women. And Sara wasn’t brooding, she was just happy not to talk.

It was Daryl who broke the silence after several miles, feeling that he could finally voice some of what was in his heart. “Wanted t’say thanks…”

There was so much more. How big that weight was that had been lifted off him since the night he and Rick had spent together in the tower. How he felt happy, for the first time almost in his memory.

As always, words failed him.

Sara got it anyway. “Oh, Daryl,” she said, her voice so gentle he had to blink hard to keep the tears at bay. “It’s right, this…”

She suddenly stopped walking. Daryl turned and faced her. Her eyes told him what she couldn’t say. _I need this, too. I need Rick, and you…_

How was it, he mused, that she just _got_ it? That she was like this, so in tune with him, when nobody ever had been, in his whole life? Unaware he was meaning to until he was moving Daryl stepped closer, stretched out his right hand and took her left. Her eyes flitted off into the distance, and Daryl squeezed her fingers.

“C’mon,” he said, and started down the road again. They walked silently for another mile, her hand small and warm in his, holding on. Then Daryl spotted the half hidden path he had in mind for a shortcut into town.

“Down there,” he pointed, glancing over. “Y’ok?”

Sara wiped her eyes on her sleeve and let go of his hand. “Sure,” she said, and gave him a small smile. “Let’s get this done.”

*

How does it happen, how does one thing lead to the next? They’re walking through the woods, Sara one step behind him. With surprisingly easy affection Daryl notices how quietly she moves. _She’ll make a right good tracker,_ is his last thought before their peace is rent apart.

They have just entered a valley, hardly more than a gentle dip in the forest floor a hundred yards or so across, and stepping out of a bunch of dense trees Daryl spots at least a dozen of the dead things dotted around the clearing ahead. The close-growing foliage must’ve deadened their groaning, and he curses under his breath as he turns around.

He’s motioning to Sara to beat a quiet retreat when he sees another half a dozen corpses ambling towards them from the way they’ve just come.

How have they snuck up on him like this?

“Run,” he hisses at Sara, who nods, eyes wide. Crouching low he ushers her before him, towards a barely visible deer track, then draws ahead again when a walker emerges from just to the left of the path. The whirr of the bolt still reverberates in the air as the corpse hits the forest floor.

A harsh gasp behind him, and he whirls around. Another monster has launched itself at Sara, and she backs away, draws her knife. _Good reflexes,_ he thinks, and hurries back to her side. Then she stumbles over a tree root with a small yelp, and he’s already there, grabs the thing by the scalp and yanks. The walker topples head over heels into the underbrush and Daryl holds out a hand, has Sara back on her feet. Her eyes are wild, and her breath comes fast, but she nods at him and they’re off again among the trees.

He’s not paying attention to his surroundings like he should. One eye is still on Sara - she’s keeping up, but barely – the other roams the sea of green for walkers.

The ravine registers, on some level. The way the trees suddenly thin out ahead, then stop at the sheer drop. But that he’s this close, that his foot hits crumbling rock and scree that just gives way to nothingness, comes as a total shock.

Even as he falls the sense of déjà vu is strong. He’s thrown back to that moment of fear, of disbelief. Merle suddenly looms large before his eyes. He gropes, for something, anything, with hands and mind, but finds nothing at all.

“Daryl!”

A shout that rends the air, then an agonized yell from himself as the world tilts and his ribs connect sharply with a solid, jagged rock jutting forward from the cragged vertical wall. Another, briefer moment of agony as his temple hits the solid branch of a tree leaning precariously into the empty space of the canyon.

Then nothing.


	10. Sara, Daryl and Rick

The sun was right above them when they finally had to stop. For the last mile Daryl’s feet had dragged so much they were barely moving. His breath came in rattling gasps, the busted arm, bloodied and useless, tightly pressed into his equally aching side. Sara, Daryl’s other arm draped over her shoulder, hardly knew where to hold him without causing more pain.

Now, finally, the end of the line. He couldn’t go on. Sara was prepared, she had felt if for the last twenty yards or so, that he was going to pass out, whatever she did. She braced herself and caught him as he went slack, managing to lower them slowly, using all her strength to prevent him banging his busted hip, and supporting his head when it slumped to one side. Her back screamed in protest at the exertion. Daryl was solid, and heavier than he looked.

For a moment she just sat with his head in her lap, catching her own breath. They couldn’t stay where they were, right in the middle of the road. Daryl needed to be in the shade, the relentless pounding of the mid-day sun was making his precarious condition worse. But Sara couldn’t shift him while he was unconscious, so all she could do for now was wait.

Wetting an already bloody rag sparingly from the one water bottle that hadn’t been lost when they fled from the biters she took a deep breath before glancing down.

“Damn…”

The gash on his temple was bleeding heavily again. The small gauze patch Sara had attached to it had soaked through, and rivulets of blood and lymph were mixing with the sweat running down the left side of his face and neck.

That head wound was by far the most serious of the injuries he had sustained in the fall. The sound of his head connecting with the branch still reverberated in Sara’s memory, making her feel sick. When she had arrived at his side, slipping and sliding down the steep gorge, she had at first been sure he was dead. Nobody, she thought, could survive that kind of impact. Somehow, she had managed to drag him out of sight of the biters up top, and the few that had fallen after Daryl had gotten so badly damaged she had been able to ignore them.

Daryl had surprised her, first by not being dead, then by coming around within minutes. But that was only the start of their troubles. He was so badly concussed he could barely be upright, even with her help, and even less so with a busted leg, a broken shoulder and several broken ribs. But somehow, with Daryl’s insistence, Sara had gotten them going, away from the herd and onto the path leading them towards home.

“’m a tough son of a bitch. W’re goin’…,” he’d slurred, and brokered no argument.

But now Daryl’s strength was utterly spent. Sara studied his features as she carefully removed the gauze. He was paper white and drenched in perspiration. His skin was burning with fever under her hands, and his breathing was getting worse and worse. She was sure a lung had collapsed.

He woke when she had just finished dabbing iodine on the head wound, and Sara quickly attached a new bandage. It hurt him a lot when she touched that area, and more pain was the last thing he needed.

“Doc…” He sounded slurry on that one syllable, and his eyes wouldn’t focus. Sara frowned. How extensive was the neurological damage? She wouldn’t know until she got him checked over properly, and could mitigate dehydration and pain. For now all she could do was keep him safe.

“It’s ok, Daryl. Try not to move for a moment. We’ll have to find some shade soon, but for now, just rest, all right?”

He seemed not to have heard her, just made some indistinct noise. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to move his head. Then Sara understood.

She rolled him onto his less damaged side carefully, supporting his head. He retched, and it sounded painful. There was hardly anything left inside him, he’d been sick several times already. Sara was deeply worried that he was unable to keep down even the smallest amounts of water.

He was struggling more and more to breathe as the gagging continued. That there was nothing left to bring up seemed to make no difference to his battered system, he couldn’t stop the sickness. Soon she noticed how blue his lips were.

“I gotta sit you up, Daryl, so you can breathe. Real slow, ok? I’m sorry to hurt you…”

He whimpered, and clutched at her hard when she began shifting them around. Finally, half-upright, his breathing eased up a little, and Sara let him lean into her. She was surprised when he rested his head on her shoulder, exhausted.

“Messed up, doc,” he whispered. “’m real sorry…”

“It’s my fault. I gave you no choice but take me along.”

“I didn’t pay attention where we was goin’…shoulda known better…y’got me out…”

Sara could feel his heartbeat against her own chest. It was weirdly fluttery and irregular. Every breath now sounded like hard work. She put her hand on his neck and stroked him gently. “Shh, now. No talking, save your breath. You’ll need it soon.”

“Rick’ll find us…”

“Yeah, he will.” _I just hope it’ll be soon,_ she added silently, watching his hands tremble with the fever shakes. She craned around until she could see his face. “Daryl, we have to get out of the road. We’ll go slow, and I’ll help…”

His blue eyes, blurry from the concussion and the pain, managed to hold her gaze for a few seconds. “Let’s do it. Y’here, it’ll be ok…”

*

It hurts to breathe. He knows he’s losing whole minutes, maybe more, to the fever and the concussion. He’s watching her rummage in her bag one second, and the next, within the blink of an eye, the sun is in a totally different place in the sky, and she’s gently wiping his forehead with a cool cloth.

He doesn’t mind being unconscious. At least the pain’s gone, and he can’t feel how difficult it is to breathe. But he can see that it frightens her, and he’s scared himself by how it gets harder and harder to wake up again.

Once he comes to gasping for air and nearly screaming with pain. Sara has her arms around him, moving him carefully onto his right, then propping him up with their bags and an old, rolled-up blanket she must’ve scavenged.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl. You stopped breathing, I had get your airway clear. Here.” She puts her small, cool hand into his, and he holds on for dear life while the slicing pain in his chest slowly fades to bearable.

Sara holds the bottle for him, and he sips some water. It’s soothing going down, but the memory of what it feels like when it comes back up again is still fresh, and they both wait anxiously for his body’s verdict.

The sun is beginning to set. From his vantage point Daryl can see a small sliver of road, and some trees. They’re just barely amongst the latter, and still very visible from the road. This isn’t a spot Daryl would’ve chosen for them to lay low, but they had little choice. He barely managed to stagger here from the road, even with all of Sara’s support, before passing out again.

While catching his breath Daryl lets his gaze wander, partly out of a long habit of making sure no walkers creep up on them, partly because he finds the sight of the leaves rustling in the light evening breeze soothing. His eyes are drawn to something glittering in the lower branches of an elm nearby. It’s a tangle of colorful ribbons, and strips of metal foil.

“Y’remember, at the hospital? There was a wind chime, in the window…”

Sara looks at him, then follows his gaze. Daryl can see a tired half-smile on her profile. “I do remember, yeah.” Her voice is soft, and far away. “Wonder who put that there, and why…”

They both watch the metal fluttering and blinking in the glow from the setting sun. Then Sara turns her attention back to him. Her cool hand pushes some hair off his face, then alights on his forehead. Daryl sees her frown, but when he catches her eye she gives him a small smile. “You’re breathing better. It feel ok, for the moment?”

“Yeah, does…”

“Then try and catch some sleep. I can see the road from here, I’m not leaving you. Rick will find us, easy.” This last, Daryl realizes, is meant to be encouragement for herself. And he also realizes she picked this spot with a purpose. He feels much safer, suddenly, and oddly proud of her. His eyes drift shut on that thought, and some hope in his heart.

He wakes from the sound of Sara’s crying. She is sitting very close, just as before. He can’t have been asleep long. His head aches, and his ribcage, and he tries to shift a little but can hardly roll forward an inch. When Sara notices that he’s awake she wipes her eyes, then helps him prop himself up a little more.

“I’m sorry, Daryl. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He feels for her hand and squeezes it. “W’happened, with you and that Miles?” Daryl doesn’t know why, but he has a feeling that she’s not crying because she’s scared of their current situation.

She grips his hand more tightly, like an anchor that gives her strength. There is a long pause. When she talks her voice is monotone, and she doesn’t look at him. “Miles was a mean boss, a bully. But when it all started, he…he fought like a lion. He was strong. He saved me. I knew he’d protect me, and I was scared. So I stayed with him, even… Every time we encountered another group he’d pick a fight. He wanted to take over, he thought he could do it better. He was real charming when he put his mind to it. And he’d win people over. But he was impatient, and would insult anyone who disagreed. We were asked to leave, more than once. I can’t even understand why I didn’t just stay with one of the groups that turned him out…”

“Did he…hurt you?”

“No...not exactly. He never hit me, and when he tried to…y’know, I’d tell him no, and he’d…he’d stop. But he got meaner, and stranger. He wouldn’t allow me to talk to people. When you found us, the women who were with us, they were the first humans we’d seen in weeks. I thought, with them, I could get away… And then the biters came, and… It was my fault, in the end…”

“What d’you mean?”

“Miles and I were having an argument. We’d walked off a ways, and these things, at first there was just the one. It came for me, and Miles got this look on his face, real mean, real…excited. ‘See how you fare without me,’ he said, and stepped back, arms crossed. I had no knife, nothing. The thing’s guts were already hanging down, and I couldn’t think of anything to do other than duck, and… and plunge my hands right in there. I could feel its spine right away, the body was pretty far gone. And I just yanked, hard. The thing fell over, and couldn’t get back up because I had severed the spinal cord. I turned around, and there was another one, just behind Miles, about to take a bit out of him. I could’ve yelled, but I didn’t. I just let it happen.”

The hand Daryl isn’t holding is going to her face and she hides behind it. “He…he didn’t even suspect that I could’ve warned him in time…” Her shoulders are shaking with silent sobs.

Daryl’s chest feels too tight, the hard ground is digging into his ribs painfully as he tries, and fails, to draw a breath. “Y’did…right thing…he was…scum…”

“Daryl?” Sara drops her hand and raises herself onto her knees. Her face is swimming before his eyes. She has her hands on him, unbuttoning his shirt. “Stay with me… Where does it hurt?”

 _Everywhere,_ he thinks, but he can’t speak. The world is turning dark. He can hear Sara calling his name again, can feel her arms lifting him, then laying him down flat on the ground. _Don’t,_ he thinks, _hurts too much. Don’t…_

Then it’s all dark.

*

“Sara? Oh god…”

“Rick? Rick, thank the heavens. I thought you’d never come…”

“Daryl? Is he…?”

“He got hurt. He fell, it was an accident, but it was my fault…”

“Never mind how, or what. How bad is it?”

“Really bad. His left lung collapsed, and I made a mess reinflating it. He lost a lot of blood. I had no choice, the strain on his heart was too much and his other lung was filling with fluid. He was already turning blue, I thought he’d stroke out…”

“Let’s get him back to the prison. I brought Glenn… Oh Sara, I never thought to come looking before sunset. Daryl stays out late all the time.”

“I know! And I couldn’t leave him on his own to get help…”

“My god, without you…”

“Without me none of this would’ve happened!”

“It always does. This is not on you. The world is dangerous, and getting worse every day. All we have is each other to make it through. Now, come and help me with him. Let’s get you home!”


	11. Interlude - Recovery

Healing was slow. Sara saw to it that Daryl stayed in bed for an entire week. She was deaf to his pleading, his anger, and wise to his hunter’s cunning, all of which returned once the fever abated and the pain receded to manageable levels.

Sara made sure Daryl was never left alone during that first week. He’d get agitated and argue with everyone else about not being allowed out of bed, but when Sara came back he would always calm down. As soon as her small hand came to rest on his arm or neck he’d stop struggling to stand up from the side of the bed and would let her help him back under the covers.

All of this came later, however. For the first 24 hours Sara was sure he would die, that his injuries were too severe, and that they had been out there too long. The only person she shared this conviction with was Rick, but everyone could feel their fear, the pain in their leader and the grief in the strange little doctor. The others gave the three of them their space. Everyone was heartbroken.

But they did what they could to help. Glenn and Maggie carried their home-made double bed up to Sara’s cell, which, being the most remote place in the cell block, would give Daryl the quiet he needed. The big bed would make caring for him easier. Fresh linen, blankets and pillows were donated, and it gave Sara a lump in her throat to realize how much Daryl was valued. _He has no idea how much they love him,_ she thought. He had to pull through, even if it was just for that.

Then they all waited.

Sara left the cell only twice in the first 48 hours to quickly use the bathroom. Rick stayed with her as much as he could stand it, and acted as liaison with the rest of the group. The hunter’s injuries, untreated for hours, had caused infection and fever. Daryl didn’t regain consciousness while the fever raged, but he was often restless in his delirium and pain. The only person who could calm him then was Rick. Not even Sara’s soothing fingers, her calm voice, her presence that Daryl had taken to so easily was enough in those moments.

Coming back to the cell after some errand Rick stopped in the doorway and watched Daryl writhe in pain and indistinct fear. Sara, looking despondent and afraid, threw up her hands and turned away. “He won’t calm down. The pain will only get worse if he doesn’t lie still, and I’m scared he’ll start bleeding again.”

Rick went over to the bed and put his hand on Sara’s shoulder briefly. Then he climbed onto the mattress. “Shh, buddy… ‘s ok, don’t fret. I know it hurts, but you got no need to be frightened. We’re here.”

Continuing in that vein in a low voice Rick let Sara help him pull the hunter against his chest. Feeling the fever burn through his man he stroked his neck gently and murmured soothingly all the while. And at long last Daryl gave a deep sigh, rested his head against Rick’s shoulder, and fell asleep.

That first night Sara climbed into bed next to Rick, who was drowsing, still holding a sleeping Daryl, and went to sleep for the first time next to the two men, a place that would soon feel as natural to her as sleeping alone had been for so long.

Time slowed, the world narrowed. Sara forgot that there was a prison full of people around them. Her days were measured by the regular appearances of Hershel, who would come to help her change bandages and administer medication. Her sole focus was on the man on the bed, pale and wan and exhausted, and every hour of undisturbed rest, every little indication that his pain was abating was a victory. The first time Daryl woke and recognized her Sara wept with relief.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’ cry…”

They continued to keep quiet watch as Daryl gained strength day by day. Sara insisted on giving him painkillers even when he protested he didn’t need them any more. She could see in his eyes that he was being less than truthful. “You don’t deserve to be in pain,” she said after one of those exchanges. “Don’t suffer for no purpose. It hurts us too, y’know.”

Daryl looked at her, then at Rick, his soul so full of emotion he couldn’t speak. So this was what it was like to be wanted and cared for, for no other reason than that these two people loved him. He’d known it, in his head, that he was important to Rick, and to the group, but with her there he could accept it with his heart too. He’d never known that he had wanted this, but now he couldn’t understand how he had lived without this feeling.


	12. Daryl, Rick

It happens quietly, but Daryl is not surprised by it. Sara still stays with him most of the time. As his injuries heal and his strength returns she comes up with a rehab program for him. On the tenth day after the accident they sit on the side of the bed for half an hour, the next she helps him to a comfortable armchair someone has found and brought to their cell. The day after they walk a few paces out on the landing, and the next day they walk a few more. It takes another five days before he can face the stairs.

“They look like an obstacle,” Sara says, “but actually it’s great exercise. And if you can’t make it back up you can always sleep in Rick’s old cell downstairs.”

Daryl manages just fine with her help, both down the stairs and up again, partly because the thought of sleeping alone makes him feel sad.

Nearly three weeks after the accident, and Daryl still suffers from dizzy spells that can hit him at any moment. Worried that he will fall the others keep a close eye. But he can sit up in the common area now, and have his meals with the others. It’s nice to go back to normality, Daryl finds, even though he still can’t go out alone. Oddly, he’s not missing that as much as he thought.

One day, in the early afternoon, Sara rises and places her hand on his shoulder. Daryl is no longer surprised when she sees him flagging before he’s hardly aware of it himself. She knows when his leg or shoulder give him trouble, sees when he gets tired. “Time for a rest,” she says quietly, and helps him to his feet.

Daryl can walk fine on his own today, but he never minds when her small form slips under his arm and she fits herself neatly against him. He tightens his hold on her a little, and she smiles up at him.

He’s actually not in pain, or very tired. But the cell block has been busy all day, and the talking and the laughter in the echoey chamber has a disorienting effect on his head. Sara, too, looks like she won’t mind to be away from all the people for a while.

In their cell he sits on the bed and toes his shoes off. Sara lowers the blanket over the entrance, and the resultant dimness and quiet is soothing.

“How’s the head?”

She always asks, and Daryl has learned to be honest about it. There were a few times when he didn’t tell her or Rick that he felt unwell and had nearly fallen. A few hours’ sleep is the best thing for it, to prevent the dizzy feeling from becoming a headache. He’s slowly learning to let himself be weak once in a while.

“’s all right today. Bit of quiet’s nice tho.”

Sara picks out a few pills from the array lined up on the table and brings them over with a glass of water. “A rest can’t hurt.”

“Yeah…”

She sits down by his side and watches him swallow the pills. Then she says, “Turn around,” and he obeys. He knows what she’s going to do. Her fingers on his face are cool and familiar, and he relaxes under her touch. Even these medical examinations are a welcome part of his day.

“Follow my finger.” And once she nods, satisfied, he opens his eyes wider and lets her shine her small flashlight into them. “All fine,” she says after a moment, and he gives her a rare grin. Rick calls this procedure “Sara’s eye exam fetish”, and the memory of how Sara laughs when he says this makes Daryl happy.

Her dark blue eyes in his, so focused and intense, make Daryl feel strange. She has a way of looking at him that brings out emotions he’s buried for years. Eye contact in Daryl’s world used to mean a challenge, and he’s fallen out of the habit entirely. But now he’s learning what it feels like to be looked at with affection, and to return the favor.

He takes Sara’s hand that’s still holding the flashlight. He feels calm, brave. His eyes in hers he takes the flashlight and puts it on the floor. Then he leans close, encouraged by her gaze, and kisses her.

She barely hesitates a second, then she’s kissing him back. For a long while it’s just this, lips and tongues exploring, holding each other’s hands.

But Daryl wants more. He’s nervous, but he wants to, needs to try. It’s so peaceful with her, so safe and calm, he doesn’t feel any fear. His hands start moving on their own, and he’s surprised to find he’s unbuttoned her shirt. She pulls away a little then, her eyes questioning now. _Can he do this? Is he strong enough?_ He can read her mind, and his own eyes in hers answer the questions. She smiles, reassured.

“Don’t let me hurt you, Daryl.” Her voice is just as calm as always, but her words are followed by a small intake of breath as his hands get the last button open and alight on her breasts.

 _This is my first time,_ he thinks. Oh, he’s been with other women, behind seedy bars in stinking alleyways, in the cabin of Merle’s truck. All of them were furtive, quick, uncomfortable fucks. He’s never stayed the night, never woken up with anyone. He hated all of the encounters. Now he wakes up every morning with two people who mean the world to him. _This is the first time I’m making love to someone._

She has to help him with his clothes, holding on to him gently as he stands, because he’s suddenly wobbly again on his feet. And there’s no way he can support himself on his injured left arm. But she manages it all quietly, and without fuss, as is her nature with everything she does.

They lie down together, and once again he’s struck by how gentle, how careful she is with him. Her eyes are so soft, her smile so full of love. He doesn’t mind that she has more experience, is surer of herself, takes the lead a lot of the time. She shows him what she likes, what gets her excited. He pays close attention as she directs his hands, and he’s fascinated by the softness of her skin, the mysteries of her body. He especially likes how her breasts feel in his hands.

When she’s close her rhythm changes. He hadn’t realized how close he is himself, and when she tilts her pelvis and speeds up he lets the last bit of tension go.

His orgasm lasts longer than he can ever remember. It’s a hundred times better than those awful, half-drunk liaisons that now seem more like fights than an act of mutual pleasure.

They have been quiet throughout, and, coming out of the blissed-out haze Daryl can hear the laughter and talk swell again from downstairs. If anyone has heard them, or suspected what they are doing, he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. His family would never intrude, or judge.

 _Family,_ he thinks as Sara lies down next to him, pulling the covers over their naked bodies. He’s never thought of them that way before.

“You ok? Not cold? Nothing hurting?” Her small hand on his chest slowly strokes the soft hairs there, and he hugs her close. “Nah, ‘m all good.” How happy he feels, he hardly dares to believe this is real.

“That was so nice,” she says, sounding sleepy.

“’twas perfect,” he hears himself say, and means it.

Her fingers come to rest on his belly, and he can feel her grow thoughtful. He cranes his neck until he can see her face. She looks back with calm thoughtfulness.

“You want to be with Rick.” It’s not a question.

He never thought he could admit to it, but now it seems the most logical, the only truly right thing in the world. “I want t’be with y’both,” he says quietly. “You, Rick, and me. That’s what I want, forever.”

*

Sara and Daryl’s first time just happened, but the next step would need careful planning. When Rick came to bed that night he didn’t need to be told anything. Sara was asleep, but Daryl’s eyes met his, shining. Rick could see it all in there. What had happened that afternoon, and what these two people who he loved more than his own life wanted to happen next. He slipped under the covers and pulled his man into his arms.

“There’s no rush,” he said quietly against Daryl’s hair as the hunter rested his head against Rick’s chest. “When you’re ready you’ll know. And I’ll be here.”

Daryl tightened his arm around Rick in response, and that was it, for that night. His man asleep in his arms, their girl so close he could hear her quiet breathing Rick was utterly content.

Rick and Daryl spent a lot of time together over the next week. Sara made sure they were left undisturbed, and it had the desired effect. Slowly, haltingly, Daryl started to talk to Rick, about his troubled childhood, about Merle and his abuse. Rick asked Daryl about the scars, which he had only glimpsed while helping Sara care for the hunter, and Daryl turned right around and pulled his shirt up. That night there were tears, and they weren’t all Daryl’s.

They often kissed. Daryl seemed to enjoy it, and every time they were together like this he was a little less tense, a little more eager. When they lay together on the bed Rick could feel Daryl’s arousal against his thigh. Once Rick considered offering Daryl a hand job, to ease him into things, but then desisted. Instinct told him that the hunter’s past was full of furtive, half-sincere acts like this, and his and Sara’s task was to replace those memories with acts of love and tenderness.

Daryl wasn’t ever embarrassed for Sara to find them in the middle of things. He’d give her a sleepy smile and beckon her to join them. He would pull her close as soon as she lay down, and go to sleep with a contented sigh. This was Daryl’s favorite place in the world now, Rick realized. Sara in his arms, Rick wrapped protectively around the two of them. Rick had never known more restful sleep.

The night it happens they all know. No words are exchanged, they merely get up from the dinner table as one. _They all know,_ Rick thinks, and it doesn’t matter.

It’s been a quiet day. Daryl still sticks close, but he can now be up for most of the day, with a few hours of rest here and there. His shoulder still gives him trouble, and he limps a little, but the dizzy spells have as good as disappeared.

Daryl comes to Rick as soon as the blanket has fallen over the entrance to their cell. The hunter claims his mouth hungrily and Rick sinks into the caress of Daryl’s hands. He’s eager for more this night, and can feel his own arousal matched by Daryl’s as his man presses into him.

But then Daryl pulls away, eyes suddenly shy again. He half turns and beckons to Sara, who, eyes full of fire, steps close. She looks at Rick, and his erection is painful in its confines as she places her hand on his chest and comes to him.

It’s a dance, slow and deliberate. Daryl watches with rapt attention. His eyes are a little nervy still, but his hands join theirs now and then, and Rick can feel the excitement through his strong, calloused fingers just the same as through Sara’s small, cool ones.

They undress, almost without thought, and when he and Sara are down to underwear Rick motions to Daryl. “You can just watch, this time, if you like.”

But Daryl shakes his head. “’m ready, just…”

Sara goes to him, head cocked, her small breasts smooth as cream in the soft light from a single, low storm lamp. Rick watches her as she raises her hands and slowly unbuttons Daryl’s shirt. Then she stands on tiptoe and kisses Daryl, who leans into it, then sighs and puts his arms around her shoulders. When they break the kiss and Daryl hides his face against her shoulder Sara glances back at Rick, then holds a hand out to him, and he lets her pull him close. “We’re ready. We’ll do this together.”

For a while they just stand, wrapped around each other. Skin on skin, while the last pieces of clothing disappear. Arms wrapped around a narrow waist, a broad torso pressed against warm skin. Fingers on nipples, lips on collarbones. Sara’s small frame and Daryl’s wide shoulders a contrast that drives Rick to distraction.

She makes the first move. Her eyes on Rick as she takes his hand, then on Daryl as she interlinks their fingers. They follow, and all three climb onto the bed. She first narrows in on Daryl, helps him stretch out. His shoulder is still immobile in a stiff, elaborate bandage, and she makes sure he lowers himself without a big jolt. Her fingers trace the still bruised ribs, and her eyes find Rick’s again. “We’ll be real careful,” she says, and Rick nods. _Don’t hurt him,_ her eyes says. _Never,_ his answer.

Sara lies down by Daryl, and they glance at each other for a long moment, motionless. Rick observes as they lose each other in that gaze, and he feels a lump in his throat. Watching these two love each other is such a gift.

Then Daryl pulls Sara’s hand to lie on his stomach, and turns his head to look at Rick. The lust in his eyes takes Rick’s breath away. The hunter gives a tiny upward jerk with his chin, then shifts his pelvis and spreads his legs, planting his feet onto the mattress. Rick can see his erection twitch, and his had grasps himself at the sight.

“Rick.” It’s no more than an exhalation, but Rick feels it reverberate through his whole being. He leans down and finds a box under the bed, where he had stashed some lube he’d come across on a recent foray. Then he positions himself.

Sara’s focus stays on Daryl, her hand on his torso steadying him, the other one stroking his shoulder, his neck. She lies very close, and Rick can see how much her presence helps Daryl.

But the hunter’s eyes are on Rick, and the trust in them never wavers. The expression on Daryl’s face as Rick enters him for the first time Rick will not forget to the end of his days. How it changes from apprehension to surprise to passion. How his cheeks flush with arousal, his lips part and he gasps. How his throat is all exposed as the hunter arches his back. How he gives a tiny whimper, his hand reaching for his own shaft, matching the strokes to Rick’s rhythm. Rick puts his hand over Daryl’s, and Daryl lets go and clutches Sara’s hand instead. Daryl’s warm silky length in his hand brings Rick’s peak very close.

Daryl turns. “Sara…”

“Right here, my love,” she whispers, her eyes flicking to Rick’s for a second. “We’re right here, you’re safe.” She sounds breathless herself, and Rick’s pleasure doubles at the thought of her arousal.

Then Daryl contracts around him, and Rick knows how close the hunter is. He picks up speed and tightens his hand on Daryl’s erection. The hunter’s eyes snap around.

“Rick.” The breathy growl is half a plea.

“You’re ok, Daryl. Don’t hold back, man. ‘m right there with ya.”

And Daryl nods, and closes his eyes, and with a small tilt of his hips tips them both over the edge.

It’s utter bliss, and Rick loses track of time and space. Daryl’s hand comes up and alights on Rick’s chest, and when Rick slips out Daryl pulls him down onto the mattress. Rick, endorphins still coursing through his veins, obliges and Daryl crowds close, buries his face against Rick’s neck. The fast, hot breath against his skin, Daryl’s body pressed against him, Rick knows he’s found his place in the universe.

Then he meets Sara’s eyes, and they are luminous as the brightest summer day, the most brilliant ocean. Her hand reaches across Daryl and rests against Rick’s face.

 _Yes,_ her eyes are saying. _Yes. This right here. Yes._


	13. Epilogue

When she comes back from the bathroom sometime in the early hours Daryl is awake, and pulls her gently into the space he’s made between him and Rick. It’s too dark to see anything, but Daryl hugs her close, nuzzling her neck. Sara knows he wouldn’t be this forward in daylight, even when it’s just the three of them.

“Never knew I could feel like this,” he murmurs. “’s nice.” And, after a moment, “Y’made it happen.”

Sara hugs him, careful of the injuries, and strokes his bare back. She can feel the scars under her fingers, and for a moment he stiffens. But then he makes a small sound, almost a purr, and relaxes. _He’s healing,_ she thinks, _and it’s got nothing to do with physical injuries._

*

He’s dreaming. They’re outside in the prison grounds, all of their group, and it must be they’re having some kind of picnic. She’s leaning against him, her small body fitting perfectly into his arms. He can smell her hair, sweet and clean like the summer day. There are children running around, laughing and singing.

Rick sits down next to them and smiles at Sara, then at Daryl. “Not long now,” he says. “Are you excited?”

When Daryl wakes he knows. His hand finds its way in the dark, to her sleeping form by his side, and alights on her belly.

Whose baby is it? For a second the whole thing makes him uneasy, but then he smiles to himself. It’s his. It’s Rick’s. And most of all, it’s hers. It’s their baby, and it will have the best family they could ever wish for.

*

The fuzzy morning light paints the shadows indistinct, draws outlines of things against surfaces, makes the world both recognizable and surreal.

He straightens up, one shoe in hand. He wants to check the crops before it gets too hot, so he can spend the rest of the day with Daryl and Sara and make sure they have everything they need. His eyes are with the two sleeping forms on the bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets. He smiles. He can’t remember ever feeling this happy.

His two. The little doctor who brought them together, and is somehow center and observer in one. And his hunter, his man, who he never thought he’d have in his life like this. They fit together perfectly, to each other, and to him. Rick can’t believe his luck.

Among all the misery, pain and death, this happened. They found each other, they made a new life worth living for.

Rick knows never to take this for granted.


End file.
